


Crowley, Aziraphale, and the Royal Ship Vasa

by orphean



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: In 1628, an angel and a demon watch the royal ship Vasa sink.After the world doesn't end, they visit it again.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Crowley, Aziraphale, and the Royal Ship Vasa

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote two thirds of this after watching the new show, and then I forgot about it. After dallying with the book again, I decided to wrap it up. There might be some bad history here. Enjoy!

**_Stockholm, 1628._ **

It was a beautiful ship. Gilded to the gills (so to speak), it was almost as though the ship itself was preening. The colours of the ship were stark and bold. The lion figurehead opened its mouth in a majestic roar, teeth white and tongue deep read. The cannons glistened in the Stockholm summer sun. The crowds were cheering. Crowley could even spy the king himself, the very same Gustavus Adolphus whom the demon had once convinced to start a war when heinously outmanned. The king was watching his pride and joy get ready for departure. On the decks, rambunctious crewmen were preparing to set sail. It was a glorious day.

It was almost a shame that the _Vasa_ was going to sink.

Crowley leaned against the railing, chin resting against an open palm, and waited. He was grateful for the sun. His clothes – the black doublet, the black breeches, the black shoes with a snakeskin details – were warm to the touch, and he felt livelier than he had been in months. Scandinavia was not good for reptiles. Scandinavia was not good for demons.

'Oh no.'

The voice came from behind him, and Crowley cursed inwardly. _Of course_ , he thought. He turned around and gave a wide grin, his teeth a little sharper than they usually were.

'Master Aziraphale, I wouldn't expect to see you here! I thought Head Office wanted you to focus on the Catholics? They're very easy to tempt, you know.'

Aziraphale, his clothes at least a decade out of fashion and in a dreary palette of whites and taupe, frowned and joined Crowley at the railing. The woman who had been next to Crowley realised that she really had to run some errands, and that spending your time waiting for a ship to set sails was not a Godly way to spend your time.

'What are you planning, Crowley?' Aziraphale's countenance and voice were equally resigned, a sigh resting on top of each word.

'Planning something, me? Wouldn't dream of it, angel!'

Aziraphale gave him a _look_ , one almost disparaging enough to deserve a capital L. It was _almost_ a Look.

'This is a very important ship. I was talking to Gustav only last week, and he is most excited about winning the war.' Aziraphale's sidelong glances at Crowley were interspersed with long stares at the ship and even longer sighs. 'Sixty- _four_ cannons, Crowley. And a lot of very pretty art, too! Dozens of angels.'

'And how many of those did you model for?'

The angel looked offended.

'I would _never_!' He shook his head. 'I just provided – ah – some inspiration.'

A couple of minutes passed in silence.

'I wouldn't've thought your side would want war?' Crowley finally asked, thinking that asking questions _not_ about the _Vasa_ would make it less likely for the other side to figure out how to save the ship until it was too late.

'Well…' Aziraphale frowned as he considered the question. 'There's war, and then there's _war_. This is just… war.'

Crowley wasn't sure which was worse – war or _war_ – and by the distracted way Aziraphale was twirling his hair around a finger, he was pretty sure the angel didn't, either.

There was a roar of an explosion as the cannons were fired. Crowley waved his fingers and a powerful gust of wind caught the sails. The _Vasa_ was setting sail.

'You're too late, anyway.'

'What do you – what do you mean I'm too _late_? Crowley, what have you _done_?'

Aziraphale was irritated now, his voice high in frustration. He even _touched_ him, a hand on his forearm to get the demon to look at him. Crowley looked at him, his eyes gleaming more golden than ever in the bright sun, and shook off the angel's hand.

'Give it, oh, just a few minutes.'

' _No_.' Aziraphale stomped his foot. At this point, foot stomping and complaining was something Crowley should expect from the angel, but somehow, he was still surprised enough to giggle. 'And no, _don't_ you giggle at me. Tell me what you did, and tell me _now_.'

'Don't wanna.'

It was at this point the _Vasa_ veered dangerously. There were terrified yelps from the masses of people watching. The crew onboard moved like frightened ants, barely keeping their balance.

It only lasted a couple of minutes, however. Soon, the ship righted itself and the crowd roared with cheers. Crowley could feel Aziraphale relax next to him. The angel believed everything would be fine.

'Well, I clearly got here in time. Your dastardly plan didn't succeed.'

This was when the _Vasa_ dipped again. The ship was far away, but when Crowley squinted, he could see the water rushing into the gun ports, and he could see the ship starting to sink. He smirked.

'Crowley.' Aziraphale wasn't annoyed now – he was cold and furious. 'Why do you do this?'

'It's my job, angel.' A frustrating nagging feeling of _guilt_ started deep in Crowley's stomach. He tried not to think of it. He wanted to add: _it's just a ship_ , but he couldn't ignore the frightened crew's desperate attempts to save themselves. 

'It doesn't have to be.'

With tears in his eyes, Aziraphale rushed off.

The guilt rested like a stone in the stomach of the demon. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated very, _very_ hard.

* * *

_**London, 1956.** _

Crowley was taking a bath when he heard the telephone ring. He willed the telephone cord to unplug itself. After a few moments' silence, during which he drowned several rubber ducks, the phone started ringing again. He knew the phone _had_ pulled its plug out. He knew who was on the other end of the line – and he knew the phone wouldn't stop ringing until he picked up. 

'What do you want?' he asked. One lazy Tuesday afternoon the angel and he had figured out how to bypass the switchboard operator. It was easy, really – why couldn't the humans figure this out themselves? Then again, a lot of people were really rather wicked against the switchboard operators, and he had once told his People that he had invented the job. They had been pleased and had given him a special commendation.

'Did you read the _Times_ today?' There was a tremor in Aziraphale's voice, an intense excitement that Crowley hadn't heard since the end of the last Great Human War.

'I can't say I did. I've been spending the last few days in the bath, finishing off a case of 1945 Margaux. What fuss are the damned humans up to now?'

Crowley had determined that mankind was really very good at managing their own business, and they were ending up downstairs even without his intervention. He was actually a little annoyed that a human invented aerosol hairspray all on his own. They still didn't know how they were affecting their planet with this invention, and Crowley couldn't wait to see how they would react when they found out.

'Damned, haha, very funny.' Aziraphale was as always softly chiding. 'It's on page four. It's the _Vasa_.'

'It's the what-now?' the demon started moving to the entrance hall, where he knew a newspaper would appear if only he stared at the door hard enough.

'The _Vasa_. The ship. Remember? The one you sank?'

Crowley tripped when he remembered. _Oh right._

'Oh, that one. What about it?'

For a moment, the connection cut out. A dirty look reminded the telephone that electricity was optional, and that this telephone call was important enough to go through even though it hadn't been plugged into the wall for several minutes.

'They found it.' The angel's voice was electric with elation. 'They found the ship on the bottom of the ocean. They're going to raise it.'

Crowley stopped in his tracks.

'Oh, _hell_ ,' he said.

'Oh, _heaven_ ,' the angel replied.

* * *

_**Stockholm, three weeks after the almost-end of the world.** _

Aziraphale's hand was sticky with ice cream, which he had eaten leisurely while they stood in line. When they reached the ticket booth, Crowley paid for both their entry – even, the angel noticed, using real money. They passed through the entrance.

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks. Crowley took another step before he realised and quickly backtracked to stay by his side. Their wings (had they been out) brushed against each other.

In front of them, the _Vasa_ rose before them like some beast of old. This, technically, wasn't incorrect. In many ways, it was a beast, and it was definitely old. After more than three centuries in the water, most of the paint had sloughed off, but it was almost entirely intact, with its reconstructed masts rising to the top of the hall.

'Oh my.' Aziraphale muttered.

'Oh my indeed. Shall we, angel?' Crowley held out an arm.

'I really should wash my hands,' Aziraphale said and glanced down at his ice cream-splattered fingers.

The demon snapped his fingers in impatience.

'I've waited for this since 1628. I don't want to wait another minute.'

The angel accepted the arm, placing his hand in the crook of Crowley's elbow. This was new, this casual touching. After the apocalypse that didn't quite happen, both of them had found themselves craving the other's touch, and they had, for once, given into these cravings without worrying too much what upstairs or downstairs would say.

'You've waited since 1628?'

Crowley grunted noncommittally.

'Figure of speech, angel.'

Angel and demon, arm in arm, approached the warship _Vasa_. Passing the port bow, Aziraphale sniffed.

'Can you smell that?'

Crowley sniffed, but all he could catch was sweaty teenagers, emergency sweets hidden in grandmothers' bags, and the slightly musty scent of old wood.

'I don't smell anything. Look at that.' They looked at the upper transom's intricate decorations, the fine carvings of lions and angels and men, oh my. If mankind knew that they could impress the creatures of heaven and hell, maybe they would try a little harder a little more often. As it was, most of mankind's creations weren't very impressive. The _Vasa_ , however, was definitely something.

'It almost smells like a miracle.'

'Don't be silly.'

Crowley swallowed. Even though his body never had any need to swallow, he had seen enough movies of people swallowing when nervous that he had started doing it without thinking about it. He glanced over at the angel, who was still admiring the ship.

They took a lap around it at a leisurely pace. They skirted between school classes chaperoned by tired history teachers, cutting in front of tourists who were more interested in taking photos than in actually experiencing the wonder of what was in front of them. Aziraphale stopped to read every information plaque. Crowley spent each such moment reading every nuance of the delight on Aziraphale's face.

They trailed up the stairs to the upper decks, where Aziraphale led him through every special exhibition and up to each informational plaque. He stepped into the recovered diving bell and Crowley followed along. It was dark inside, Aziraphale ethereal (as always) in the darkness.

'It's a little snug, isn't it?' Aziraphale asked fondly. Crowley felt his breath hot against his face.

'As a bug in a rug. Trying to kick me out, angel?'

'Never.'

'Can you imagine – deciding to dive into the oceans with something like this? Metal all around you and just the smallest glass window to help you see what you're doing.'

'That's humans for you.'

Aziraphale chuckled, not unfondly.

'Come on,' Crowley said after the silence had stretched long, 'there's still lots to see.'

When they clambered out of the diving bell, he reached out his arm again – and Aziraphale caught his hand, wrapping their fingers together. This has not happened before. Still, it was comfortable. They fit against each other perfectly, as though moulded for each other. (This made Crowley think. They... hadn't been, had they?)

The museum stretched up and up, and they walked through it all, hand in hand. In one nook, a film was playing on repeat, chronicling how the _Vasa_ sank. Aziraphale's grip on Crowley's hand tightened in the animated sections showing the ship totter into the bay. Afterwards, they leaned over the railing, looking down at the ship. The rigging was new, of course, but it looked just like it had on that fateful day.

'So what did you do, Crowley?'

Aziraphale asked his question on an exhale, the words soft and feathery and not at all as judgmental as Crowley had feared.

'Rulers.'

'Rulers?'

'Yes, rulers. Not the royal kind, of course,' the demon added, 'the one with inches.'

Aziraphale frowned at him over his glasses.

'There was a Dutch crew and there was a Swedish crew. They had different rulers.'

'Well, that's not strange. You need more than one ruler.'

Crowley wondered if momentary daftness was an angelic trait.

'No. The rulers. They were –' he waved a hand to explain 'they had different measurements.'

Aziraphale frowned.

'How did you manage that?'

'Talked to some people. Discussed the size of thumbs. Sizes of feet.' Crowley shrugged. 'Easy, really.'

'Hm.' Aziraphale looked over the ship. 'What else did you do?'

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley blinked.

'That's all I did.' He lied.

'What about the miracle?'

The silence stretched out, Aziraphale's eyes on him like a disgruntled school teacher, who knows that _something_ has been done, but he still needs to figure out _what_.

'Well?'

'I might have maybe convinced the bottom of the harbour to be gentle to the ship so that perhaps it could be brought back up to the surface one day.'

Aziraphale turned, leaning against the railing. The sails of the _Vasa_ peeked behind his head, a pair of horns in addition to his invisible halo.

'Why did you do that?'

The question was quiet, barely spoken. Crowley looked away, fixing his eye on the deck of the ship. Hundreds of years ago, a full complement had rushed across those floorboards, desperately trying to get off a sinking ship. Aziraphale had watched, just as Crowley had, and the demon could feel the angel's grief in his very essence.

'The _Vasa_ sinking seemed to make you so sad. It bothered me.'

Out loud, it sounded stupid. Crowley stared at everything not-Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale's fingers were warm on his cheek, first gently stroking his skin, before he pressed ever-so-softly, forcing his head to move so their eyes met. His fingers were somehow still sticky with ice cream. His eyes were filled with love for everything in creation. He smiled.

'That was very nice of you, Crowley.'

Crowley didn't have a chance to think of a snarky response.

Aziraphale's lips were soft, which Crowley had known they would be. The kiss was chaste. The kiss was more like Heaven than any of Crowley's memories of the gilded gates. The kiss was over far too soon.

'Um.'

'Indeed.'

The angel had the gall to _titter_. He gave the demon's face another caress before he reached for his hand. He laced their fingers together, Aziraphale's messy soft serve fingertips against Crowley's immaculately clean palm. They fit perfectly together.

'How about some wine?' They walked through the throng, holding hands. They didn't need to talk about the kiss. They both knew it had been long overdue, and that it would happen again. They had waited six thousand years. It wouldn't take as long for their second kiss. 'Anders Zorn recommended this lovely little restaurant to me in 1921. I never got around to going there.'

'Sounds heavenly.'

'Apparently the appetizers are _sinful_ ,' Aziraphale smiled. 'It's a bit of a walk, I'm afraid.'

'I don't mind,' Crowley said.

And so, an angel and a demon walked hand in hand through the streets of Stockholm, perfectly content with where and with whom they were.

**Author's Note:**

> If nothing else, [the detail about the rulers is true](https://www.pri.org/stories/2012-02-23/new-clues-emerge-centuries-old-swedish-shipwreck).


End file.
